Our new space. I was looking forward to simplifying once again. Two bedrooms sounded perfect – not too much, but the luxury to duck somewhere else if we needed a breather, a chance at solitude.
This is the largest place I have ever lived since my childhood home.
I was overwhelmed by the number of rooms: three bedrooms all with a bath. A separate kitchen and living room. An additional nook with stained glass that appears to serve no purpose. And each room is cavernous; the square footage accompanied by the tiled floors makes the entire space echo. During the first few hours, both Dave and I got lost. To begin coping, I closed the doors to two of the bedrooms, which also cut off one of the bathrooms; it only had a traditional toilet, so nothing lost there. The laundry room is also closed off for now, but at some point I’ll have to admit it’s there.
I was disappointed. Where was my cozy space, my simple retreat I assumed awaited me? The place where I was going to relax and slow down for the year? Like the country itself, our flat in Oman is a vast wasteland. I guess where there’s lots of land, people take that concept and apply it to their homes. When the land is packed with people, trees, and other things, the dwellings parallel the countryside and shrink to the size that makes me most comfortable. I went to sleep longing for a room a third of the size though I did appreciate the double bed as opposed to the twin we shared in Korea.
The next morning I felt a little better. I could find my way to the living room (mostly due to the closed doors eliminating some options). I enjoyed putting on my makeup at the little dilapidated vanity (the furniture here is cheaply made and already falling apart). I looked at the stained glass nook and decided that I will use it for meditation.
Don’t get me wrong, this place is still too big and makes my resolve to downsize in the US strengthen. But it’s our home for a year. Even though I only want about half of it.